You Have Burst at the Seams
by thewindwarns
Summary: Each year on the anniversary of the end of the war, they air a patriotic program throughout all of Panem.  A look at what goes unsaid about the life of Johanna Mason. Spoilers for the series, with Johanna/Finnick/Annie & Katniss/Peeta.
1. i

Title: you have burst at the seams  
>Fandom: The Hunger Games<br>Word Count: 6000 words  
>CharactersRelationships: Johanna, Johanna+Annie, Johanna+Finnick, Finnick/Annie, Katniss/Peeta  
>Summary: Each year on the anniversary of the end of the war, they air a patriotic program throughout all of Panem. A (lengthy) look at what goes unsaid about the life of Johanna Mason. Spoilers for the series.<br>Notes/Disclaimer: Title from Ellie Goulding's "Human." I do not own The Hunger Games and make no profit from this endeavor.

* * *

><p>Each year on the anniversary of the end of the war, they air a patriotic program throughout all of Panem. Introduced by none other than leading television personality Gale Hawthorne, it is part documentary, part memorial, and according to some, a master work of cinematography. There is, of course, a touching segment on the participants of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games and Johanna Mason is described on different occasions as a tribute, victor, revolutionary, and survivor. The short package devoted to her is slick and sharp - all thanks to Cressida's careful editing, some heartwarming scenes with Katniss she attributes solely to the influence of morphling, and the narration of a man that sounds suspiciously like Finnick Odair. It is, as many would say, quite flattering.<p>

In other words, there is much they forgot (and chose not) to say.

* * *

><p><strong>i.<strong> She arrives in the world early. Her mother was always considered a slight thing and when she passes from infection, the neighbors predict it likely that the tiny baby girl won't make it past a few more days either. (_Such a tragedy_, they announce, _to add to all their misfortune_.) Her father, defiant, spends his days and nights by her crib, calmly telling them not to place their bets so early. (_He can afford to_, they whisper, _with all the favor he receives from the Capitol_.) He waits and waits and soon enough, life goes on as usual.

It the last occasion that Johanna Mason is a source of town gossip for quite some time.

* * *

><p>Her brother Leon and sister Mathilde are both well-regarded, clever and comely but not extraordinary in any respect. Johanna, however, fails to meet others' expectations. In fact, she seems to want to lower them: small for her age and short-tempered to match. She's unruly and impertinent, though her father calls it "candor". It seems pointless though, keeping her mouth shut when she wants to tell anyone that will listen that the history they learn <em>doesn't make sense<em>. (She says too much once during lunch one day. On the way home, Mathilde scolds her and Leon makes her promise to keep her comments to herself. It's difficult at first; her face will still scrunch in frustration as though she has something to hide and her father will say, "Johanna, the whole point is to avoid revealing your tell.")

Later, after watching a drunk man be beaten for yelling obscenities directed at President Snow, she _gets_ it: standing out and feeling smug isn't worth it when it calls too much attention from the Peacekeepers with weapons at their sides.

* * *

><p>Her father, like his father and grandfather before him, has a workshop full of furniture: tables and chairs and sometimes the occasional cabinet or bed. (Once, it would have all been shared with her aunt, but they don't talk about what-might-have-beens in their house, especially not when they concern ghosts taken away by the Reaping years ago.) She never disturbs him while he works (house rules), but when her father announces that he is building a chifforobe for none other than Claudius Templesmith, she finds herself wondering aloud why the famous announcer doesn't just buy it in District 1, like any of the other things the citizens of the Capitol decide they must suddenly need for the season. He just laughs and says, "You'll figure it out, dear. You're smart." (She frowns, because that's not what the teachers say. Or the other children, for that matter. <em>Bully<em>, maybe, but not smart.)

When a man arrives, skin tinted purple and hair bright green, looking of all things _uncomfortable_ in their clean and tidy home, her father leans heavily on his cane and breathes shallowly, as though each and every step is an effort. It is the first time Johanna is home to receive a visitor from the Capitol and all she wants is to run to the doctor, but Mathilde holds puts a firm hand on her shoulder. "Stay away from the buyer," Leon whispers, "Father will be fine."

She'll sit in her father's lap after, waiting for an explanation. "Listen to me, Johanna. I sell antiques, and well, sometimes people need a reason to still want to buy them. It doesn't hurt if you can give them a story of the craftsmanship, however embellished, to brag about to their friends." She doesn't understand, not quite yet, but then her father says, "Sometimes it's best to give them a show."

She nods. "Then it's all just make believe." (She hasn't learned just yet that they're the ones on display - _not_ the furniture - but she'll understand it soon.)

* * *

><p>Life hadn't always been this way. Years before, her father had worked at the sawmill like her brother and her cousins and uncles, until an altercation with the other workers left him with a lame leg and the inability to keep up with the pace required of all the men. The Peacekeepers had called it a fit punishment for the possession of contraband books. (One day, though, her brother tells her what really happened: the Peacekeepers had set upon her father on the path to their home on the edge of woods, and no one dared contest the "official version." She considered it cowardice long before she had learned the meaning of the word.) So he had agreed to work alongside Grandfather, catering to the whims of the men and women of the Capitol, the ones that thought it trendy and hip and oh so fashionable to have a custom piece of rustic furniture transported all the way from District 7. It helps bring in much needed money for the family (and at times jealousy from the neighbors, even those that are Capitol Craftsmen themselves), but sometimes –- when the visitors board the train without so much as a second glance behind - Johanna sees a faraway look in her father's eyes.<p>

"He can't decide," Mathilde says, "whether he wants to stay here or leave it all behind."

Johanna hates them for it, for making her father doubt himself. She knows what she would choose. Her district (_her family_) every single time.

* * *

><p>Her first boyfriend is named Cooper. They hold hands sometimes and she even thinks that she might let him kiss her one day if he's brave enough to try it, but knows better than to hope they might grow old, let alone <em>together<em>. He's reaped, of course. She steels herself for the inevitable, but when she sees an eight from the Gamemakers - right up there with some of the Careers - she convinces herself against better reasoning that he has a chance of coming back home alive. He dies anyway, in the middle of grabbing a weapon at the Cornucopia.

She'll swear to herself, in the quiet of the night, when not even the Peacekeepers can hear, that she will always see the games for what they are, what they ask you to become.

Johanna Mason grows that year, in more ways than one.


	2. ii

**ii.**

Her name is called on the next Reaping Day. They show her shaking and crying, head buried in her hands, but what they don't realize is that it's a signal to those who know her best. She is refusing to let her older sister - strong and so full of promise Mathilde - attempt to volunteer in her place.

(During the Quarter Quell, she thinks this is why she can't stand the soon-to-be Mockingjay: it must have been so much easier for Katniss to leap forward to take another's place, but Johanna was left alone on that stage, knowing she couldn't accept that sacrifice.)

There is, however, a part of her that is simply _scared_. That's the part that keeps the tears coming, long after she's said goodbye to her loved ones, long after she realizes exactly what she must do to come back alive.

* * *

><p>She sits silently in the train compartment while Will Quire - the youngest victor in District 7, her supposed mentor, her brother's <em>friend<em> before he came back from the games with an impenetrable wall around him - stares at her, waiting for her to begin the conversation. Most don't remember how he won, but Johanna does, can recite it as quickly as you pleased. He had grabbed a particularly sturdy vine in a very timely manner and simply been the last one still breathing after mutts chased the remaining tributes right into a pool of quicksand. (They don't recap his games - you don't get high ratings showing reruns of a victor without any kills.)

"Why are you helping me?" she finally asks.

"It's my job."

"Well, obviously. I meant why specifically _me_. Matt's older and stronger, and I'd probably put my money on him. Blight already has. Besides, it's not like District 7 has the best record when it comes to bringing home female tributes, no thanks to the likes of you."

"Do you kids still play cards behind the school to trade desirable items?"

"Yeah. But what does contraband have to do with this? And I'm not saying I'm one of those kids." She pauses. "In fact," she says, raising her voice, "I do not condone such behavior."

"No harm meant," he replies, voice careful but steady. "We are all loyal citizens of Panem here, aren't we? Leon mentioned once that you're good at card games. The ones that require a lot of thinking. He even said you taught him some tricks. But this was a long time ago, so I'm not sure how much is true." (She knows he's lying; she saw Leon and Mathilde huddled with Will in the Justice Building before she left, all furtive glances and hushed whispers.)

She shrugs. "They're a means to an end. What does gambling have to do with murd-competing?"

"Everything," he replies.

She can see the caution in his eyes, his line of questioning, and so she leans back in her seat. "Suppose I can think ahead and hedge my bets. What makes you think you can trust me to carry out your strategy? What if I don't like it? I mean, look at you. You're still alive because of a _fluke_." (One day, she will remember this conversation and think, "I should have been nicer," and she will be right.)

Will releases a deep sigh, as if reconsidering his decision to offer assistance. "She told me you'd be difficult, but hear me out first, won't you? It'll be much harder to convince you once we put you into a freaking tree." She nods in agreement; those costumes do their tributes no favors. "A few years ago, the Gamemakers hit a trifecta when they had Gloss, Cashmere, and Finnick all in a row. But since then, we've had what you might call a bit of a dry spell in terms of how victors win. My games. The glacial arena the year after... You get the point. They're itching for entertainment, Johanna, and if you are willing to give them some, well, we might just be able to bring you back."

His words sink in and she mulls them over. He's smoothed things over quite well, she thinks, like _human sandpaper_. "Yes," she says, "I am willing." (She will never tell anybody this - not even the head doctor when he asks for the entire story - but that was the moment she felt the last of her innocence slip away.)

* * *

><p>Making it through the training and opening ceremonies is more difficult than she expects, but somehow she muddles it all. She cries in her chariot, manages a resounding score of <em>two<em> during her private session with the Gamemakers, and hides behind her long brown hair during the interview. Caesar, despite his best efforts, can barely coax any intelligible lines out of her other than "Why can't they just let us all just go home now?" (Contrary to popular belief, she had really meant it, but history had preferred to cast her as the trickster, the anti-hero, rather than what she had been: a frightened girl that knew she was throwing the dice, and that even if luck was on her side, she wouldn't leave this place without _so much guilt_.)

On her final night before she enters the arena, Will gives her one last piece of advice: "Try and keep your humanity, won't you? I promised your family I'd try." She wants to answer, but holds her tongue, nodding instead. _Easier said than done._

* * *

><p>She hopes, <em>prays<em>, that her arena will be a forest, because then she's got somewhat better odds, but when she's standing on her disc, all she does is look for cover. They signal the start and she _runs_, grabbing a pack without checking its contents, moving away from the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

It's only when she feels safe enough to stop and climb a tree that she dares to look more carefully around. One part of the arena appears to be a forest, the other a desert. Everything feels much too big and she thinks of flowers and herbs Mathilde kept under jars when the winters came. There's a feeling she can't shake that if she just looks up, she'll see a glass dome above her, giant gardeners and all.

"A few more supplies wouldn't hurt," she says after a moment. The parachutes don't come (it's not like she expected otherwise), but Johanna is not above scavenging supplies from fallen children. After all, she's quite aware that she will sink much lower. It's all just a matter of time.

* * *

><p>That first night, she gathers her long hair with the ribbon her sister had given her as a token, then cuts it all off with a dagger she had ripped from the hands of a dying girl from District 5. The audience can see her eyes clearly now, can sense the hardness there.<p>

She knows when to hide, when to fight, and most importantly, that her narrative is changing from fodder to _contender_ as the kills become easier. And the audience, well, they just love an underdog, don't they? But Johanna Mason also knows this: they love an unforgettable champion even more.

* * *

><p>With the sandstorm quickly approaching, this is her moment, her chance to finish it all. She checks her protective mask one last time before throwing the smoke bombs down, stabbing quickly. The cannons sound but she doesn't stop running, not until she reaches the oasis and can wash away the blood. It doesn't all come out, but she knows, just like everyone else that is watching, that it doesn't matter in the end - the hovercraft is on its way. But still, she scrubs at her arms and legs and face as though she will never be clean.<p>

The Capitol would never let it be widely known, but there are whispers that spill out anyway that Johanna Mason knew exactly what she was doing when she denied herself footage of her victory.

* * *

><p>"Johanna Mason," she says, "more than just the figurine in your terrarium."<p>

"Of course," Caesar replies, ecstatic that she can hold a full conversation, "Can you tell me more about that?"

"My father kept a collection of old books - all approved by the government, of course. Lots of pretty pictures. He used them for decoupage, to decorate his furniture sometimes. You might have even owned one of his pieces." She pauses, gives time to let Caesar nod and turn to the enraptured audience. "Well, one book was my mother's favorite and so my father never cut it up. It had all this information on what to do if you wanted to grow certain plants indoors, or how to take things in from the garden once the weather got too cold. My sister was good at that stuff and I used to help her. But there's this one funny thing Caesar, that I'm not sure everyone here knows is common wisdom."

"Oh, do tell! I'm sure the audience would love to hear it! Isn't that right?"

There's applause, of course, and Johanna smiles, wide as she can. "The whole point of sticking living things under jars is to keep them alive."

(They didn't show that in the districts. No, they cut away several moments earlier, so that all you saw was a thin, tired girl sitting alone on a throne, glaring at the audience like she still had everything in the world to prove.)

* * *

><p>She's nearly aboard the train to go <em>home<em> when Will walks up to her, darting his eyes away. "They've asked me to stay in the Capitol to take care of some things. Product endorsements and some other things. I'm a popular mentor now, by the looks of it. I'll be sure to give you credit for that, of course."

"So you'll come back to 7 with us when we return to the Capitol for the victory tour then?"

He shakes his head. "It's an indefinite stay. But you'll be fine, Johanna. Just remember - you have to give them what they want, until the time is right."

She's smart, and now she _knows_ it, but in this moment Will doesn't make any sense. "What do you mean?" She never hears an answer, because suddenly her escort pulls her into a car and they're on their way.

* * *

><p>Even though she should know better, Johanna scoffs at Snow's requests of her services. ("I've given you the highest ratings in years, so wouldn't you agree that I should get a say in my choice of <em>patrons<em>? That is, if I even accept any of them.") Blight shakes his head after he learns of what she's done, but she doesn't understand the disappointment until she returns to the Capitol for the 70th Games and the president tells her on the second day - after she has just lost her tributes in the arena - that there's been a _horrible accident_.

"It's a pity," Snow says, as she clenches her fists and bites the inside of her cheek, "I'm sure they could have avoided this fate had the foreman – your uncle, was it? - taken the proper precautions. And your poor sister – now it was tragic enough to hear that she had been swept away by the river after hearing the news, but to learn that she was also your mentor's sweetheart? You know, Miss Mason, there are already some in the Capitol clamoring for a television special of their story starring our own Mr. Odair as Will Quire. Just think of the ratings! Quite fitting to honor their memory in such a way, _wouldn't you agree_?"

(Her father will be the last to leave her, dying not of suspicious circumstances but in the dead of winter from a lingering illness, one that try as she might, she cannot cure, even with all the fancy medication she buys from the Capitol. She spends her days and nights by his bed, reading stories and poems from the old books he has hidden from the Peacekeepers, trying her best not to cry. When he passes, she auctions off the unfinished chairs to the highest bidders, spends the money on extra food for those in her district that need it most. The workshop is left empty, but she keeps his tools on a nightstand in her bedroom. _A reminder._)

Will never comes back, either, but she had figured that it out soon enough.


	3. iii

**iii.**  
>Johanna firmly believes that divine retribution comes in the form of losing her loving family and gaining a makeshift one of fellow victors - psychos and screw ups and decent but unfortunate people included. She appreciates honesty and character and trust, despite (or maybe because of) her previous survival tactics. And that, that is exactly what she least expects but comes to find in this dysfunctional group.<p>

Blight warns her, first and foremost, that she'll have nightmares. (He's right, of course. She always dreams of her last day in the arena, wakes up thrashing in her bed, frantic and frightened until she strips herself of her clothing, can feel her skin underneath her fingertips, no trace of blood left on them.) When Haymitch pulls her aside to say it will be worse than her own games to watch her tributes fall again and again, she doesn't doubt it. But Finnick says it gets easier. That, she knows, is a lie.

Still, it comforts her that it's all for her own benefit.

* * *

><p>This had been the first meeting between the two unlikely friends: Haymitch had beckoned them over and said, "Finnick, this is Johanna. Johanna, this is Panem's favorite. Now play nice." And then, when he had noticed Finnick's too tight grip and Johanna's too wide smile, he had added, "That goes for the both of you."<p>

* * *

><p>It's a curious thing, the phone installed in her kitchen. She isn't sure who she'd call, since she's fully aware that the Capitol has tapped the line and it's not like the small but old boys' club of District 7 victors is often thrilled to be on the other end of the line. "Johanna," they would say, "that's fascinating, but you don't really need to call us the moment you think of it. Especially at 3am in the morning. Can't you just write it down?" (She can't help it - she's just <em>that<em> brilliant sometimes.) But when they announce the Quarter Quell, the phone rings before she can even reach for it.

"Johanna?"

"Please give me some good news, Pretty Boy."

"It's been decided. Mags and I are going in."

"Does she-"

"Yes," he says, and she can see him shaking his head. "We couldn't keep her away from the television."

"It's okay. We'll be sure to bring you back."

He only says goodbye, but she knows what he's thinking, what he can't say: _And you too._

* * *

><p>In the memorial film, there is no footage from the Quarter Quell of Johanna shoving Wiress down. But she remembers exactly why she had yelled, had pushed the other tribute away in anger and disgust. Johanna, as everyone had seen on their television sets, had spent her first run in the arena looking out for herself. It is one thing, she knows, to accept without hesitation the task of protecting others, but keeping them <em>alive<em>? Well, in that moment - in that heat with the blood sticking to her, when she can't wash herself clean because she and she alone has to drag Nuts and Volts to safety - she is reminded of her previous failures. She feels guilty, too, that she should want - _need_ - more help, but the parachutes are to be saved for those that deserve it most.

(Finnick will dump her in the water, tell her she's stupid, that she's the one he most trusts with all their lives, and she will try to believe it. By the time Katniss says it later, in the underbelly of 13, she knows it to be true.)

* * *

><p>When she is first captured by the Capitol, she confronts her interrogators in typical trademark fashion: biting remarks and harsh jokes at their expense. They don't get what they want, no, not at all.<p>

But as soon as she hears Peeta in the adjoining cell, and later, Annie, she changes tactics. When they bring out the wires and the water, she keeps her mouth shut, save for the louder and louder screams and now irrelevant information. The effect is simple: there cease to be more threats that they can - and will - do much worse to her fellow prisoners.

Let it never be said that Johanna Mason does not at least attempt to be agreeable.

* * *

><p>Later, when Finnick visits her in the hospital before what she will always consider his final time in the arena, she makes him promise to return in one piece. "You have people waiting for you here, a chance to start a family. And Panem would love that, wouldn't they? A whole herd of little Odairs running around, breaking hearts left and right. They could make a television show of it. Just think of the millions you could make. You could even support me in my old age when I decide to sell the rights for an exclusive tell-all. Plutarch would eat it up, you know he would."<p>

He laughs, replies that he'll have to consider it carefully before allowing her to influence his children, and then, just before he walks out and Katniss makes an appearance and they come to a resigned _understanding_, he turns to look at her one last time. "Really, Johanna. You should come to back to District 4, when this is all over."

They both tried their hardest not to disappoint, they really did.

* * *

><p>She drifts in and out sometimes, between the morphling and the trauma, and when she thinks back on the war, there are gaps in her memory, whether or not it's of her own volition. But there are things she does remember: the games, the prison, the water, the hospital, the wedding, the vote.<p>

That feeling of being left behind.


	4. vi

**iv.**  
>After the war - after the head doctor tells her she's not just safe but <em>better<em>- she rides the train through the districts, too restless to stay in any one place for long. (Too scared to be alone.) Somehow she winds up in District 12, where Haymitch is sipping on water, Peeta is baking shortbread cookies (her favorite), and Katniss is out somewhere in the woods, getting the rest of the dinner. She reflects on the banquets of her victory tour, hoping that the quality of the food has somewhat increased. Then she remembers: anything homecooked would be an improvement over what passed as 13's cafeteria fare.

"Geese?" she asks.

Haymitch shrugs, but there's a lightness to his movement that she didn't recall seeing much of in the old days. "It keeps my mind off things. You know, Johanna, a hobby might do _you_ some good."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because ax throwing would be a healthy distraction for my neighbors."

Peeta looks up long enough to interrupt with his advice, though she doesn't mind. "Maybe you just haven't been given the right tools yet."

She's about to reply that she doesn't think bigger weapons would necessarily solve the problem when Katniss proclaims she needs some help cleaning the game. Haymitch starts yelling at his birds through the window and Peeta suddenly needs to tend to some dough, so Johanna smiles, baring a flash of teeth. "My pleasure, oh chosen one." She throws in a deep bow for added effect, just to see Katniss scowl. (It's worth it.)

* * *

><p>A few weeks later, she takes Annie up on her standing offer for a change in scenery and a place to stay, packing up her few belongings in a solid trunk of her grandfather's making. The entire way to District 4, as the landscape shifts beneath her window, she repeats to herself, "I am stronger than this. I am stronger than this. I am stronger than this." Maybe if she says it enough, she thinks, it will come true.<p>

She arrives in the early evening and feels like a stranger in a house by the shore. (It's not like her own, with the trees all around and the sense of enclosure, of safety.) At night, she walks out to the pier. The sight of the water still scares her, expansive and unknown, but a girl with dark hair and sea green eyes grabs her hand and says, "Come back, Johanna. It'll be easier to see things in the morning."

"Well," she replies, "you can't argue with that logic."

* * *

><p>Annie takes out the jars of shells and pebbles and glass she's made Johanna help collect and hoard each morning, emptying them unceremoniously onto the table. She lays their treasure out in patterns on a piece of wood, all the while humming a traditional tune Johanna's since learned is the other girl's favorite.<p>

"What are you making?"

"A sailor's valentine. Mags told me that a long time ago, sailors used to bring them home to their lovers."

"And what are you going to do with them?"

"Sell them to tourists that visit Finnick's memorial. I tell them it's a replica of an Odair original," Annie deadpans, and for a moment Johanna stares in shock until she realizes that her fellow victor is completely serious. "What?" the other girl asks, "It's not like we still get a lifetime of winnings from the government."

Johanna remembers then, that flash of wit and confidence that Career girl Annie Cresta had displayed in her interviews, the moments when Finnick smiled at her during the opening ceremonies, as if to say, "Look Johanna, she doesn't need my help to make her way back. _She won't get lost because I tried and failed._" (And then the dam broke and Annie had returned not quite as whole as the rest of them. Or maybe more so - Johanna was still deciding.)

She makes one for the hell of it - it's not very pretty and she's the slightest bit embarrassed, but it's something that doesn't break in her hands. Annie tells her they can sell it at a discount. An earlier work, they'll call it. Even prodigies like Finnick Odair had once taken baby steps.

* * *

><p>Some days, the doctor comes by the house to check in on Annie and the baby because the hospital, well, the hospital is a place where Annie sometimes forgets and starts to wander the halls, asking everyone when Finnick's coming home. (And Johanna, though she wouldn't admit it, sometimes wonders how easy it would be to grab some morphling - as a favor to security, of course, to test their vigilance.) Mrs. Everdeen starts to visit once a week – for redemption, perhaps, Johanna thinks - sharing her advice and occasionally commiserating.<p>

Once, when they're sitting at dinner and talking about Plutarch's new singing competition, Annie suddenly confesses, "I'm scared to be a mother."

"Sometimes it was a hard time to be one," Mrs. Everdeen replies.

"I never knew mine," Johanna finishes.

They sit there thoughtfully, chewing on their salty bread, when she finally breaks the silence. "Well, between the three of us, I think this kid will at least be the most spoiled brat in all of Panem. Don't you agree?"

Annie clasps her hands over her belly. "We'll be alright. He'll look like Finnick, I just know it." Mrs. Everdeen nods in agreement, commenting on how handsome he was and how charming and wonderful she's sure the baby will be, but Johanna is the only one that sighs. She supposes she'll have to be the one that hides all the sugar then.

* * *

><p>They get a phone call one day and Johanna answers. "Haymitch. To what do I owe the pleasure?"<p>

"Just doing my rounds, sweetheart. How's the mermaid doing?"

She looks over to Annie, who's sitting in her chair, knitting and humming. "As good as can be, all things considered. The baby's due soon and who knows, Annie might want you to be around. Father figure and all of that sappy stuff."

"Har, har, Johanna. And you?"

"Still working on finding a hobby that doesn't endanger innocent bystanders."

"That's my girl. You know, you could always go back to designing-"

"No," she says, shaking her head, "I don't want to be reminded of any more arenas, even pocket sized ones." It had been her talent, once, growing gardens under glass. (What her sister would have done, would have sold to the Capitol as the latest rage, delicate portable masterpieces for mass consumption.)

The rest of the conversation is brief and the next day, she rises early, suddenly inspired. She's District 7 through and through, the last great descendent of a line of woodcutters and carpenters and craftsmen and artists, and though this should be as easy as breathing, she finds herself _helpless_, clutching her father's old toolbox among piles of wood in what will become the baby's nursery.

Annie wakes up and pads into the room, leaning against the doorframe. "What are you doing, Johanna?"

She censors out the curses before answering, "Building a crib. Or at least trying to. My father made one for my siblings and me - called it the thing he trusted most in the world."

"I'm sure he'll love it, no matter how it turns out." She isn't sure whether Annie means her father or the baby, but thinks better than to ask for clarification. It soothes her pride a bit, to be honest.

"Hey, Annie?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let the kid walk until I can figure out how to build a sturdy rocking horse, okay?"

"Oh," Annie laughs, like it's the obvious answer, "that won't be a problem. He'll be swimming first." She doesn't doubt it, and the funny thing is, she doesn't think she'd mind helping him learn.

(She doesn't finish the crib nor start the rocking horse, but one day they'll say that the little Odair boy has the finest set of blocks in the entire district and that all the children line up just so they can play with it. Johanna would know - she slipped one of his classmates some candy to say it first, told him she'd haunt him if he ever said otherwise.)


	5. v

**v.**  
>She moves to turn off the TV in anticipation that it'll upset Annie (and perhaps more selfishly, because she doesn't want to be reminded of her own mistakes). "Not yet," Annie says, holding her son, "I want him to hear his father's voice." Johanna sits down, is just about to say that it's not Finnick talking, but a really, <em>really<em>good impersonator, when the man in question appears, grinning on his wedding day.

They leave the program on and Annie doesn't say much after, though she gazes out the window as though she'll find something she's been waiting to see. There are moments when Johanna thinks the other girls is just about to cover her ears, and so she moves to catch the baby that will inevitably fall, but Annie's hands remain steady and gentle. (He's just like Finnick, she realizes, anchoring her to a world that needs her.)

Johanna though, Johanna laughs and cries and jokes and yells (and not always at the most appropriate moments; in fact, it's mostly at Katniss' utter selflessness). It's the first time, to be perfectly honest, that she's watched the whole damn thing. And the film's really not that bad. _She's_ not that bad. _Likable_, even.

"When did you ever doubt it?" Annie asks, and it is only then that she realizes she must have been talking aloud. "You're Johanna Mason. You have friends that care about you and you care about them too." There's some hesitation in Annie's voice. (She can just sense it, remembering the times when Finnick would have to reassure her with his words, help her sift through dreams and reality.) "Right?"

There was a time when Johanna would have said no, that the Capitol - and frankly _life_ under a totalitarian regime - had taken all of those near and dear away from her. But here - sitting in a house by the sea and thinking of Annie and the baby, of Mrs. Everdeen and Haymitch and Peeta and even Katniss scowling at a cat all the way in District 12 - she can't help say anything but _yes_.

* * *

><p>When he is older, she will be the one that tells him about the war that started the Hunger Games and the rebellion that ended them, but for now, she just rocks him to sleep. When Johanna Mason sings old lullabies she forgot she knew, the mockingjays don't stop to listen, her voice does not waver, not once, and that will do.<p> 


End file.
